I should point out that the review was not commissioned, edited or posted by me but by our reviews editor, Ali Alizadeh. Further, the review itself was written by Ryan Scott, a Czech-Republic based poet whom I have never met or corresponded with. Still, I feel a slight twinge of discomfort and potential embarrasment to see a review of my own book in a journal of which I am the Managing Editor.

While it’s not quite in the same league as Walt Whitman writing reviews of his own book, Leaves of Grass, under false names and then using these reviews to create testimonials, it’s still, well, a bit strange. What do you think?

For those of you who like to gawk at Flickr streams, click on the above image to be instantly transported to a series of images from the Melbourne launch of We Will Disappear, courtesy of photographer Macushla Burke.

The latest issue of papertiger media’s Tiger Talk newsletter also includes some details from the recent Soi3 book launches. First of all, here’s what Paul and Marissa have to say about the MWF launch:

I’m kicking myself that I didn’t take the opportunity while I was in Bris Vegas to grab one of the posters for the Queensland Poetry Festival, in which I was lucky enough to take part. Still, I did manage to grab a copy of the festival program (cue image, left – featuring my escort for the weekend, the divine Miss Kat), as well as checking out some cool poetry talent, rubbing shoulders with the famous and not-so-famous, eating Himalayan food, sharing an apartment with Matt “Not the Guy from the Full Monty” Hetherington, ranting about haiku with Myron Lysenko, experiencing the delight that is Brisbane weather in the spring time, and suffering a bizarre attack from a spider inside a tent while camping on Stradbroke Island. Ah, Queensland – what’s not to like? Actually, don’t answer that one. There’s plenty not to like about any place. On the other hand, Brisbane is a damn sight more interesting than it was the first time I went there, in the late 1970s, to have a fragment of an earplug wrenched from my ear-drum. Youch.

It’s been so long since I posted here (I blame Facecrack, personally). It really is about time I wrote something. So what’s news? Well, the truth is that I’ve been in and out of rehab since my book launch at the Melbourne Writers Festival, almost three weeks ago. That’s what happens when you choose to drink a glass of champagne for each page of your book. And even with a ‘slim volume’ of verse, that’s 84 champagnes. By the end of the night, I could actually hear Betty Ford singing “Simply the Best”, over and over again.

Hi, my name’s Davey, but you can call me Clint, or Brian. I’m very excited about my forthcoming booklaunch, which is now a mere twenty four hours away.

I’ve been waiting a long time for this event, over ten years in fact.

I hope you’ll consider joining me for a cool glass of mead on the rocks tomorrow afternoon at 3.45pm at the Malthouse Theatre (Sturt St Southbank), or more specifically in the Bagging Room, which is at the top of the building.

Free drinks will be available there for those who get in early enough and for the rest of you, all I can say is that for the rest of your life you will be able to say “I was there when it happened”, whatever “it” may be. Only we will see.